The bunny trail that leads to the spring egg hunt isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be.
Colorful hands-on activities, eggs galore and a photo with a gigantic rabbit seem to promise a basketful of fun. But my recent experience was more like a trip down the Alice in Wonderland rabbit hole.
Upon entering the scene with grandkids and family in tow, it appeared that a “mad’ tea party -- serving up pancakes and juice -- had already begun. Legions of little children dashed to and fro while parents attempted to woo them tableside with promises of a soon-to-appear Easter bunny.
We stood in disbelief, regretfully realizing our admission had already been paid in full.
Suddenly, the loudspeaker boomed announcing the honored guest would be hopping to the front door. The room cleared, and we found an unoccupied sticky chair.
“Now, don’t fret about missing Easter bunny’s arrival,” I chatted cheerily to 9-year old Hunter and Hailey as I spread a glob of butter on my cold pancake. “We’ll still be able to get a picture after we eat.”
A look passed between the twins.
“Time for the egg hunt!” the loudspeaker blared again, prompting a multitude of squealing kids to race for the expanse of lawn.
The twins watched as swinging baskets blew wildly in the wind.
“We forgot our baskets,” Hunter moaned. “Where will we put our eggs?”
His mom reminded them both that there were doggie poo bags in the car, and no one would be the wiser. The twins chose to stuff the plastic eggs inside their sweatshirts instead.
Fortunately -- or unfortunately -- for Hunter, one of his found eggs revealed he’d won a brightly woven basket. The downside was a Barbie and two tiaras tucked inside.
With the day seeming to be a bizarre adventure, my last hope was the photo op with the Easter rabbit. As the line dwindled, we watched bawling children recoil at the sight of the gigantic big-eyed furry mammal. Others wore congealed smiles.
Our turn was next.
One twin sighed and then stepped up to the rabbit. The other refused the humiliating scene.
At that moment, I realized the famed Easter bunny had lost its attraction; my expensive attempt at entertaining had failed.
But you won’t find me hiding from the reality that my grandkids are growing up. Come next year, I already know where the bunny trail will end.